


Andra's Story

by bethagain



Series: Rebuilding [2]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, OC backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-12 18:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethagain/pseuds/bethagain
Summary: Luke's assigned to fly with Andra on a rescue mission. It's a dangerous plan with no room for error. It would probably go better if she'd speak to him.How Luke met Andra, and why they've never (yet) been friends.





	Andra's Story

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this fits in the narrative but I just love Andra, and I love the backstory of how she and Luke know each other. And I wanted to share it.
> 
> So, here it is.
> 
> (Interested in reading more? Bookmark/subscribe to the [Rebuilding series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/794556) <\--THIS LINK HERE if you want to know when new bits are posted.)

Luke hadn’t been much older than nineteen the first time he met Andra. He was still a green recruit back then, pulled in to missions because the Alliance was short on pilots after the devastating losses above Yavin. He might've been the hero who destroyed the Death Star, but he'd barely had a clue about protocol and still flew an X-wing like it was a canyon-hopper. 

Andra was Special Forces. She had missed out on the Death Star battle, disappeared at the time into deep cover on a mission even Leia knew nothing about. The first time she and Luke flew together, a few standard weeks later, their main communication was Andra hollering at him to stay in formation and stop trying to be a godsdamned stunt pilot. As far as Luke could tell, she wanted nothing to do with some kid who’d gotten lucky on a bombing run. Who couldn't even land a starfighter without rattling his own teeth. 

The second time was years later, when General Madine asked for Luke’s help on a rescue mission. Two men from Andra’s unit had gone missing months ago. And now they’d finally been found.

Bassan III was a prison planet, its permanent storms and unpredictable winds better than any man-made defense system. There would be a strict flight path to dodge local sensors, no room for error. Glide in low to the ground, engines off, on manual controls where even an astromech droid would have had trouble. Andra rolled her eyes when Luke sat down next to her to hear the plan.

She waited all the way through until the special ops commander asked for questions.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Luke hadn't met the commander, a tall, smooth-skinned Tanaran with the traditional tattoos across her cheeks. She nodded, and it was clear that she and Andra knew each other well.

“Seriously Channee?” Andra said, pointing a thumb at Luke. “Did he ever even finish flight school?”

The commander looked at Luke. “Did you?” Her voice was a rasp. Luke was doing his best not to stare at the scar on her throat.

“No,” he admitted. “But I've been flying--”

Andrea snorted. “Yeah, I know.” To Channee she said, “I flew with him--”

Channee cut her off. “Three years ago. You've been deep undercover a lot of that time, Andra. You're out of touch.”

It hadn't occurred to Luke then why he could feel Andra’s anger so sharply. She was glaring at Channee so hard, there was really no way to miss it.

“General's orders,” Channee said. “Do you want to stand down from this mission?”

Andrea turned her glare on Luke. “Fine,” she said. “Guess I'm your copilot.”

 

They met an hour later at hangar two, where a tiny space-to-surface transport was waiting for them. It was an unusual design for the Alliance, more like an atmo-only plane, with moveable wingflaps and an adjustable tail fin like a rudder. Inside was just enough room for pilot, copilot, and two passengers who, hopefully, would be well enough to sit upright.

Luke walked once around the craft, checking for any obvious faults before climbing the short ladder to the door. 

Andra was blunt. “You flown one of these before?”

Luke put a hand on the fuselage, cool metal like a ground to keep him from snapping back at her. “Not much since Tatooine,” he answered honestly. “Flew them a lot back then. You need something faster than a landspeeder when you've got fresh produce to deliver and it's 43 degrees out. You can get a lot of potatoes in the back of one of these.”

“Gods, he really talks that way,” he heard Andra mutter as he climbed through the entry hatch. “I thought it was a joke.”

Luke slid into the pilot's seat and inspected the controls, making sure everything was where he expected it to be. 

Andra joined him a few minutes later, after doing her own walkaround. She took the co-pilot’s spot, checking toggle switches and gauges, cool and efficient and silent.

“You better take a look here, too,” Luke said, indicating the panel in front of him.

“I'm sure you know your job,” she said, not moving.

“I do,” Luke said. “But if I don't make it back, I'd like to know you can do it for me.”

He shifted back out of the compact chair, slipping behind it to make room. Andra moved over in silence, spent several minutes scanning the controls, then returned to the co-pilot’s seat.

“Look,” he sighed, leaning forward from the passenger area, resting his arms on the seat back in front of him. “You’re not the first person to wonder what some kid off a backwater planet is doing jumping the chain of command here. I've wondered sometimes, myself. But we're in this together until this mission is done.”

“You, me, and the Force, “ she said, and sounded bitter.

Most people considered his connection with the Force an asset. Too much so, sometimes, expecting things from him he wasn't even sure were possible. “Yes,” he said, because it was true.

She made a small, sharp humming sound in the back of her throat that Luke heard loud and clear: Fine, but I don't have to like it.

 

Andra spent the trip through hyperspace in silence, save for a few minutes when they reviewed their flight plan and what to do if anything went wrong. The two prisoners would meet them at a specific spot, directed there by a Rebel sympathizer within the guards. 

Orders were clear: They had a set time to meet and three minutes on the ground. Power out meant lights out, too, so they had an analog chronometer, powered by a hand-turned key, to count the minutes down. If the prisoners missed their rendezvous, Luke and Andra would turn around and come home. 

There in the cockpit, as the colors of hyperspace whirled past them, Andra repeated their orders, and her voice was like ferrosteel drawn thin. 

_She’ll leave them_ , Luke thought, without knowing where the knowledge came from. _But she won’t forgive herself if we do._ He wondered how much goodwill he had with Alliance leadership. How much longer they'd tolerate his choices. Because, her icy silences aside, he wasn't going to make Andra give up on her friends.

They didn't speak a word of this to each other. 

They came out of hyperdrive far above the prison planet, well out of known sensor range. Luke followed the line that their spy had drawn for him while Andra watched the scopes and sensors for any sign they'd been seen.

“Anything?” he asked her, as they closed in on atmosphere.

“If there were, I'd tell you.”

Fair enough, he thought, and turned his attention back to the controls.

He could feel the ship's responses changing as they moved through the thin upper atmosphere and down into clouds. Instead of the simplicity of space, he now had to compensate for air currents and drag.

“Two thousands meters,” Andra said beside him, then “one thousand meters,” “five hundred,” and then “cut power“ just as Luke said it too. 

“Cutting power.”

The engines whined once and then their growl was replaced with the wind’s howl, suddenly audible outside the hull. 

Luke felt the transport buck as the wind picked it up by the wings. He heard Andra swear.

This was where they'd find out if he was worth his place on this mission. He used the mechanical controls to tilt the wing flaps and bring the transport back to level. The little craft fought against the wild air. It shuddered from side to side, bouncing when it hit pockets of faster air.

Their destination was an overgrown airfield without lights or beacon. He couldn't see it, but he knew where it was supposed to be.

“We need to be lower,” Andra said, voice tight, and she was right of course, but the air around them didn't agree.

“Watch the terrain,” he told her. “Tell me if we go off course.” He settled his hands more squarely on the controls and closed his eyes.

“What in the name of the many-legged—”

“Shut up and watch the terrain!” When he thought back on that mission, that was the moment he regretted. His own squadron was used to Luke doing things that looked crazy. Andra wasn't.

But she was a good soldier. She did as he said.

A few minutes later they touched down on the old airfield, settling like a feather in still air, in spite of the buffeting wind around them.

Luke opened his eyes. Andra was staring straight ahead, hands in her lap, eyes wet.

There was no way this woman had been crying from fear. 

“I'm fine,” she said before he could ask, the iron still in her voice in spite of the tears.

He let it go.

There was just enough light from the moon through the clouds to make out the flatness of the airfield and the tall trees beyond. The trees swayed in the wind.

Nothing else moved.

Andra's eyes were fixed on the emptiness out there. Luke was doing his best not to pry but he couldn't help but notice worry.

Andra pulled the chronometer from the utility pouch on her belt. She wound it briskly and balanced it on the control panel next to the airspeed indictor. The airspeed needle rested at zero, waiting. The chronometer ticked softly in the silence. 

Every tick brought them closer to takeoff. 

Every tick brought them closer to leaving the prisoners behind, probably to their deaths.

 _We won't, though_ , Luke promised Andra silently. _We'll go get them if we have to._

_I know what it is to care about friends._

The chronometer’s indicator clicked steadily around its circle. Closer and closer to zero, when they were supposed to fire up the engines and run like hell for the sky.

At thirty seconds from zero, Luke started to speak. “Andra…”

She was already jumping out of her seat, reaching for the door controls. “There they are!” 

A flash of light bobbed for a moment across the field and was gone. Three shadows were just barely visible, crossing the field at a run. 

Andra had the door open and they tumbled inside. Luke slammed the engines on, power rumbling through the transport.

“Get them buckled in!” He heard shuffling and quiet swearing while Andra figured out how to get three men into a space meant for two. 

She dropped back into the copilot's seat as the transport lifted at a narrow angle, staying low, skimming the trees, then angling sharply up between radar sensors as Luke took them full-throttle back into space.

 

Safely home at base, with two former prisoners and one defector from the Imperial army being escorted to the medbay, Andra shook Luke’s hand, said “Thank you,” and walked away.

Luke was pretty honest with himself, as a rule. But he honestly had no idea why Andra still seemed to hate him. 

The next day, after sleeping on it and still feeling unsettled and confused, he went to find Channee.

The tattoos made it hard to read her expression but her tone was kind, even with the rasp. By the shape of that scar, Luke guessed someone must have slit her throat. Deep enough to scar her on the inside, too.

“Andra's a good soldier,” she said.

“I'm not making a complaint,” Luke said. “Please don't think that. I just don't understand.”

Channee’s smooth forehead wrinkled when she smiled. It was just the slightest bit of a wrinkle, though, and Luke thought she seemed a little sad. “No, and she would probably never tell you.”

“Will you?”

Channee gazed at him, forehead already gone flat again. “Yes, Skywalker, I think I will. Andra’s partner was in Blue Squadron at Yavin. You knew that?”

Luke nodded. 

“He had been flying starfighters for a decade. Seven years with the Imperial navy. Three years after he escaped and came to us. He was one of our best pilots. One of those guys who could fly anything.” Her forehead wrinkled again, just a bit. “Take on the craziest shit, go out there, get it done. 

“You showed up with your stories about T-16s and womp rats, and you know why we put you in a fighter? You didn't know your ass from your astromech droid. But we were desperate.”

Blue Squadron at Yavin. For a while after Yavin there was no Blue Squadron. Because none of them made it home. ”He died up there,” Luke said, beginning to understand. “And I came back alive.”

“And you came back a godsdamn hero.” Channee put a hand on Luke's shoulder, gentle and light. “Someday she'll probably forgive you.”


End file.
